


Righteous Fury

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Follow the North Star [28]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 22:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11746905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “Why the fuck would he do that?” Harry asks.Val shrugs a little, too easy by half, because it’s — it’sEvan. Who the fuck dumpsEvan?“What the fuck,” Harry says. “What a fucking asshole.”





	Righteous Fury

Evan’s upset about something. It takes Harry about point two seconds to notice that when he comes into practice, Evan doing that thing where he somehow looks small, Victor leaning into his space, looking worried, which is an expression Harry hasn’t seen on his face much. He starts to make his way over immediately, but Victor sees him do it then shakes his head a little, and Harry stops, wonders if he’s done something wrong.

It’s pretty hard to practice properly when you’re running through every single interaction you’ve had with your boyfriend in recent history, especially when you have a tendency to say stupid shit without thinking. Fuck, Harry could have done something wrong and then completely forgotten it. Shit comes out faster than his brain can follow sometimes.

He gets his head bitten off in front of everyone for not paying attention, which he totally deserves, but really doesn’t enjoy, and Evan skates over to him after. “You okay?” he asks, and looking at him closer, the bruised black bags under his eyes, the twist around his mouth, Harry thinks that’s a question he should be asking. Maybe not when he just got yelled at for not paying attention, though. No point dragging Evan into it.

“Just got distracted,” Harry says, bumping his hip against Evan’s…thigh, damn him. Evan doesn’t put distance between them until he’s tapped to work on the power play, so Harry’s feeling decently sure he didn’t massively fuck up somehow without even realizing it. Which is a relief, obviously, but still means Evan’s upset over something. You can’t tell so much on the ice, because he maintains 100% focus unlike some people Harry could name, starting with himself, but all the signs are there, and Harry sees Victor frowning at Evan a few times, Val doing the same, so something’s definitely up.

Harry slides in beside Evan after practice basically the moment he gets his skates off, and Evan gives him a smile when he steals the seat beside him, but it’s pretty feeble as far as Evan smiles go. Harry’s maybe started to catalog them in his head. No shame.

“What’s up?” Harry asks.

“What do you mean?” Evan asks, and man, the dude cannot tell a lie. Like, that wasn’t even a lie and it was the most unconvincing feint Harry’s ever seen. Harry finds it vaguely comforting exactly how transparent Evan is, but that also probably means half the room’s noticed he’s upset, and he’s just so — it must be terrifying, being such an open book.

“You okay?” Harry asks.

“I’m fine, Harry,” Evan says.

“Are you sure?” Harry asks. “Because you don’t really…seem fine.”

Evan gives him like, the saddest thumbs up Harry has ever seen. If they weren’t in front of the entire team Harry would be helpless not to kiss him, but instead he squeezes his shoulder, which seems safely no-homo enough.

Evan gives him a small smile, but it disappears when Roman walks past them, glancing at them once then walking double time to his stall.

“Did he do something?” Harry asks.

“Shh,” Evan says.

“Did he?” Harry asks, quieter. “If he did, I swear to god—”

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Evan says. “Don’t worry about it.”

There are basically no words more likely to make Harry worry than ‘don’t worry’, but Evan’s getting smaller and smaller the more Harry pushes, starting to look the way he did when Harry walked into practice, so Harry will drop it. He doesn’t want to be the thing that makes Evan look small.

Harry will drop it, at least, right until he waylays Val as he’s leaving.

“Yo,” Harry says, then grabs Val’s arm.

Val looks down, then up at him. “Unhand me,” he says, in possibly the worst British accent Harry’s ever heard, and Harry almost loses his grip when he bursts out laughing. Val went on a bit of a period movie kick toward the end of last season, dragging Harry into it once playoffs started and Harry needed the politely bitchy escapism. Harry guesses he’s still on that kick. 

Now he’s imagining Evan and Val munching popcorn in front of Pride and Prejudice or something instead of their usual Bachelor. It makes him happy to think of it, Ev swooning over Mr. Darcy — better him than Roman — while Val teases him. Harry would like to say _he_ was a Mr. Darcy, but he won’t flatter himself. He’s more of an Elizabeth anyway.

Harry has watched Pride and Prejudice with Deb and Annie one too many times, apparently.

“Shant,” Harry says. “Come over?”

Val looks at him suspiciously.

“Beau misses you,” Harry says.

Val caves exactly as quickly Harry expected he would, and texts Evan not to wait for him while Harry steers him away from walking into a pole.

Beau is predictably delighted to see Val, and Val delighted to see him, cooing at Beau in Russian. Harry doesn’t speak a word of it beyond the swear words, but he’d bet a lot of money ‘good boy’ is in there somewhere. It’d better be, at least, since Beau is a very good boy.

“Can I give him a treat?” Val asks, looking up with beseeching eyes, and Harry sighs and goes to get the treats from the top of the fridge, the only place he’s found safe from Beau helping himself to them at his leisure. And by ‘at his leisure’ Harry means eating thirty dollars worth of treats in one go and then throwing up on Harry’s bed, which has happened. Twice.

“Make him do a trick first,” Harry says, handing the treat over. “Don’t let him get lazy.”

Val has him sit and shake paws with him before he gives him his treat, adding some head scratches for extra reward. 

“Want some lunch?” Harry asks, and lets Val pick from his drawer of delivery menus to butter him up. By the suspicious glance he gets again, Val knows exactly what he’s doing, not that it stops him from demanding Mexican from the place he knows gives Harry heartburn. 

Harry apologizes to his stomach before he orders, then goes to grab the antacids from his medicine cabinet, pointedly putting them down in front of Val.

Val doesn’t bat an eye. Val’s a dick. Harry doesn’t feel bad at all now about bringing him over to interrogate him.

“So,” Harry says.

“So,” Val repeats, when Harry doesn’t continue.

“Evan seems a little—” Harry says, and Val winces.

“What?” Harry asks.

“What?” Val echoes, trying to look innocent. It always seems to work on other people, but Harry knows exactly how fake it is.

“Are you the reason Evan’s upset?” Harry asks.

“No!” Val says. He sounds offended, which isn’t an act as far as Harry can tell.

“But you know why he is,” Harry says.

“Not really—” Val starts.

“Valeri,” Harry says.

“Harold,” Val retorts.

Harry scowls. “Tell me.”

“It’s private,” Val says.

“I’m his boyfriend,” Harry says, then pokes Val’s arm. “Tell me.”

“You ask Evan?” Val asks.

“Obviously,” Harry says. “He said he was fine.”

“So maybe—” Val starts.

“He’s not fine, Val,” Harry says, then pokes him again.

“Stop poking me,” Val scowls.

“No,” Harry says, and pokes right where his shoulder meets his neck, then below his ear, which has Val turtling, arms protecting his head. “Armpit next,” Harry threatens. If he tries to protect them, he’ll leave his head exposed again.

“Roman broke up with him!” Val says from beneath his arms.

“He _what_?” Harry asks.

“At least…I think so?” Val says. “Don’t poke me,” he adds, lowering his arms.

“When was this?” Harry asks. 

“Yesterday,” Val says. “I came home, Evan was…” he waves a hand, which Harry knows means he’s trying to remember the English word, and Harry waits him out. “Upset,” Val says finally.

“Why the fuck would he do that?” Harry asks.

Val shrugs a little, too easy by half, because it’s — it’s _Evan_. Who the fuck dumps _Evan_?

“What the fuck,” Harry says. “What a fucking asshole.”

“Um,” Val says.

“Like what kind stupid ass fucker goes and —” Harry asks.

“Why are you mad?” Val interrupts, sounding terribly confused. Harry’s…kind of confused that he is as well, but that takes backseat to being _pissed_. “Now he’s just yours.”

“What, by default?” Harry says. “Because Roman’s suddenly too good for him or something?”

“I think he—” Val says, then quits talking.

“What?” Harry says.

“Maybe he thought Evan would choose you,” Val says.

“What kind of bullshit is that?” Harry asks. “Obviously Evan would pick him.”

Val frowns. “Why obviously?”

“I mean, have you seen him?” Harry asks. “I’m like — ‘oh, the little dude with seven million freckles and zero brain to mouth filter, for sure he’s the better pick than the guy who could bench press a fucking truck and is nice to everyone and looks like the kind of shit you see in porn.”

“We watch different kind of porn,” Val says. “But freckles are nice.” 

Harry glares at him.

“Not teasing!” Val says. “Remember girl in Denver?”

Girl in Denver had a lot of freckles, like enough to rival Harry, so Val’s presumably not lying about that. It makes Harry want to hide his freckles from Val. How he’d do that without like, rolling himself in a blanket and cutting out eye holes like a ghost, he doesn’t know, so he settles for the offensive.

“Also not the point!” Harry says. “Like, fuck, even if I looked anything like him, Evan’s been all dreamy about him since day one. I’m just — whatever, Evan thought he wasn’t interested so he settled on me.”

“Then why he not dump you?” Val asks.

“I don’t know, maybe he’s just too polite or something,” Harry says.

Val rolls his eyes at him, which Harry does not appreciate. “He likes you,” Val says.

“I know he does,” Harry says, because he doesn’t think Evan’s _actually_ still dating him because he’s too polite to dump him. Though if anyone would do that, honestly, it’d be Evan. “But you _know_ what he’s like about Roman.” Like, fuck, if Evan ever looked at him with hearts in his eyes like that — whatever. It doesn’t matter. He’s happy with what he’s got. Which is apparently Evan, because Roman’s a fucking moron.

“Food!” Val says when there’s a knock on the door, and Harry doesn’t know if his excitement is for the food itself, watching Harry suffer, or getting out of the conversation. Probably all of the above.

They eat lunch in front of the TV, because Val clearly does not want to restart the conversation and honestly neither does Harry, and once they're finished Val starts making his excuses, which Harry doesn't mind. He doesn't know if Victor's over at Val and Evan's, but better he's not alone. Harry would go, but they’re not really at a point where Harry can just invite himself over. Or he could, he guesses, he’s sure Evan wouldn’t kick him out, but he doesn’t want to show up if Evan doesn’t want to see him.

“Can you like…be nice to Evan today?” Harry asks.

“I am always nice to Evan,” Val says, which is true, as far as Harry’s aware. Pretty much everyone’s nice to Evan, even guys who aren’t nice generally. Harry was a pretty notable exception right up until he wasn’t. Roman wasn’t an exception until suddenly now that he is. Except Harry’s sure he was oh so fucking nice, ‘it’s not you it’s me’, and bullshit like that. Though Harry guesses it wouldn’t be bullshit, because no fucking way it’s not Roman. Didn’t like sharing, or knowing that Harry had his hands on him, or not being the center of Evan’s fucking world or something. Who the fuck knows.

“Extra nice,” Harry says.

“You want to come over?” Val asks.

“Not if he doesn’t want me there,” Harry says. 

“I am sure—” Val starts.

“It’s cool,” Harry says. “Just. Extra nice.” The idea of Evan all distraught over Roman makes his stomach twist uncomfortably with something not great, but it gets beat out by the fact he doesn’t want Evan distraught at _all_ , no matter what the reason is. He can’t hold something Evan has no control over against him. Well, he could, and he maybe has, but right now he doesn’t want to.

“Promise,” Val says, and heads out with the leftovers, because Harry’s sure as shit not going to eat them.

He doesn’t hear from Evan that night, and he still looks small when they’re flying out the next morning, leaning against the window, Victor in the aisle seat all tense like he’s guarding him. Harry’s slightly annoyed at first, but then he sees Victor give Roman some chilling as fuck look as Roman walks down the aisle, and he decides maybe he’s grateful.

It’s hard not to notice Roman. Dude takes up a lot of space, so it’s hard to in general, but Harry can’t help but keep glancing back at where Roman’s sitting with Fitzy, try to read his face, see if he’s upset too, or handling it just fine, or what. Patty elbows him the third time he turns around and tells him to chill out, and Harry sighs and sinks back into his seat, manages not to for the rest of the flight, but he finds himself doing it again on the bus to the hotel, in the hotel lobby. He doesn’t know what he even wants — for Roman to look all stricken or regretful or whatever, but he looks pretty normal, and that pisses Harry the fuck off.

Harry stays pissed through dinner, where Roman laughs at something Fitzy says and looks fucking _fine_ while Evan sits as far away from Roman as possible and barely says a word and pokes at his food until Harry starts poking him under the table to eat. They go back to their room after that, Val starting up some Merchant Ivory movie on his computer and scooting to make room for Harry. Harry thinks he’s seen this one before, but he can’t even be sure because what the fuck. Like what, Roman doesn’t get Evan all to himself, doesn’t like that Evan didn’t drop Harry like trash the second Roman kissed him so now he’s going to take his ball and go home, and fuck Evan’s feelings? What a goddamn asshole.

Harry can’t just sit here and seethe. Or, he can, but why waste time seething when he can do something more productive?

“I’m going out,” Harry says.

“Okay,” Val says, with a little smirk like he knows what Harry means by that. Harry’s not going to like, disabuse him of the notion. Let him think that.

Harry didn’t like, try to watch for what room Roman was in. He’s three doors down from Harry and Val, it wasn’t weird to notice that, especially when it seems like Harry notices everything Roman does, lately. 

He doesn’t know why he’s doing this. Roman could be out, though not many of the dudes are, as far as Harry’s aware, and if Harry had just made the monumentally stupid decision to dump Evan he wouldn’t be in a going out mood. Of course, Harry wouldn’t be making that decision. Evan’s pretty much got him until he doesn’t want him. 

Harry stands in front of Roman’s door, exhales.

 _This is a very bad idea_ , he tells himself, because obviously, and of course that, in the end, is what gives him the final push to knock on the door.

Roman opens the door after a minute, face falling a little when he sees Harry, which Harry is trying not to take offense to. Maybe he thought it was Fitzy. Maybe he thought it was Evan, begging him back so he wouldn’t have to deal with that fucking Harry guy.

Okay, Harry is maybe taking offense. 

“Um,” Roman says. “What’s up?”

“Can I come in?” Harry asks, but doesn’t wait for Roman to possibly say no, walks past him, which is basically impossible without knocking into him on the way, the fucking giant.

Roman mutters something that Harry doesn’t catch but sounds sarcastic. It’s whatever — he shuts the door and follows Harry in, and that’s all Harry needs.


End file.
